No matter what...

No matter what...


No matter what you do you’ll never be able to get rid of that spot. That’s what I keep telling myself as I aggressively scrub at the kitchen tile. The rest of the blood cleaned up nicely but this. This just won’t do. And it doesn’t help to pretend it isn’t there, when it obviously is. The irregular shaped stain is a tell-tale sign of my indiscretion. My careless actions on display to look back and haunt me. Reminding my visitors to inquire about my missing husband. It’s not the newly painted room they’ll notice, or the brilliant curtains adorning the windowsill. The very thing that will stand out is the crimson marker beneath their feet.

It wasn’t hard and you see it usually is. The killing is supposed to be the complicated part of the situation. Yet it wasn’t. In went the knife smooth like slicing into hot butter. Flesh parted and gave way to the intricacies of a human. Not much to it. Open wound spilled more blood than felt necessary. Who knew that much liquid coursed through the body? Without all that blood he wasn’t living anymore. Down went the stiffened torso landing with a thud. The thick liquid splatters everywhere in the room. There wasn’t a surface untouched, including my white skin. Streaks of sticky red ran through my hair and hung down. All that washes away nicely. Clothes can be destroyed. Even the process of dicing and slicing the body goes off without a hitch. There is little assistance needed from the bone hammer.  In the end the pieces compact small enough to fit into both the fridge and freezer. And still the liquid on the floor remained. I attempted to sop up the bulk of it with a mop and towels before bringing in the heavy chemicals. Scrubbing bubbles and bleach couldn’t undo all the damage to the porcelain floor. Most of the stains lifted and revealed the original luster of the tile. But damn if that one spot wouldn’t concede. Out out damn spot! Red kidney shaped blemish on display for everyone to see and question. Repeated abuse to my hands leaves only bloody sores. Pressure from the floor on my knees creates purple bruises. Efforts in vain, could not take away this tiny imperfection. A remaining flaw that leaves my crime on view for others to critique and pass judgment. Its strengths. Its inadequacies. Black stains left imbedded into the tile where the fridge sat aren’t as much of an eyesore. The black seems to be right at home among the dirty grout and cracks. A character flaw with a loveable quality. Unlike the red intruder that passes through the room with bright notice. Uninvited. Larger than life and bigger than a personality. Speaking volumes with its shape and color. Peculiar creature with an obvious story to tell. Upstaging the kill, outshining the victim and eclipsing motivation behind the crime. Greedy little spot. Throw rugs and kitchen mats may cover the mark from wandering eyes, but it seems best to accept its permanent presence beneath the surface as there is no way to completely remove the stain.



This is new. Needless to say, you can’t always clean things up and every now and then they shouldn’t be. Fixating on that particular stain or blemish won't change things. Anyhow with that thought… it’s time to be quiet. enjoy?? kisses. m.